Tasteful Darkness

Chapter 7

Balendin - Now

I stand across the street from the tavern. The Guard looms behind me.

"Your plan?" they ask.

"Yet to be decided," I say.

"You may want to change forms. I doubt you would be very respected in such a place looking as you are now."

I scoff. "You must know little about humans. He won't fall in love with me in a form that would get me into that tavern."

"I thought love comes in all ways."

"Of course it does—"

"Then why not?"

My hand curls into a fist. "Fine," I spit out.

It is a good thing I decided on wearing loose clothes and a coat today. Thank the Night I hadn't decided to wear a corset.

Once my form is morphed—I'm not in the mood to be creative and decide on a form from the other night—I turn towards the Guard. They look at me for a moment, not saying anything.

"Well?" I ask.

"It is fine, I suppose."

I roll my eyes. "Night, you are incessant."

"Do you say our god's name so often?"

"I should be going," I say loudly.

Without another word, I make my way across the street and don't stop until I'm inside the tavern.

It's as loud and disgusting as I imagined it would be.

I give a silent groan and make my way towards the bar. Maybe a drink or four will help me get through this night.

"An ale, please," I tell the barman, though deep down I am in desperate need of rum.

His back is turned to me. "Not many people say please in this place," he says.

I ignore him and look at the bar around me. The man—Peter—is nowhere to be seen, but I might simply not be looking hard enough. There are so many people here I am sure the room is filled with more hot breath than air.

The barman turns.

My eyes widen. It's Peter.

For a moment, he is as frozen as I am.

"Do I know you?" he asks.

"No," I blurt out.

I think. The last time I had this form was the night of the festival, and that night I only talked with—

Curse the Night.

"Yes, I do," Peter says. "You are the drunk man from the festival."

The damned Guard told me Peter visited the tavern, not that he worked at it.

My hands are clenched so tightly I feel my nails digging into my palms. "I don't remember that," I lie.

"I wouldn't be surprised. You seemed pretty lost in the world."

"Am I allowed to have an ale or not?"

Peter doesn't say anything and slides over the drink. "Enjoy."

"Thank you," I say sarcastically before taking a gulp. "So... you work at a tavern."

"Are we making conversation?"

"That is what this is, yes."

"Yes, I work here. Is drinking an every night thing or just when you see me?"